The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  “I do,” stated William. “Though I am quite certain that you would look charming at anything you undertook, Miss Alita.”

  Val rolled his eyes at the degree of insipidness to which the conversation had fallen. He was definitely beginning to feel like the third wheel.

  There is a reason I do not socialize.

  Did his highly intelligent and educated companions have nothing more important to speak of than analyzing the degree of femininity maintained while taking exercise?

  Who really gives a damn? It was obvious the three of them did.

  “What is that delightful modern tune the orchestra is playing?” The duchess asked.

  “In Zanzibar, My Little Chimpanzee,” Sherwood answered without hesitation. The orchestra struck up the chorus of the popular tune, more apropos than Val might have wished.

  Ah, so we have hit upon a subject Sherwood has knowledge of. Most impressive. And I had supposed him to be ill-informed.

  His eyes fell on Sherwood, increasing his displeasure. As usual, Val’s view of the world was going to lose out to a foppish, flowery fellow.

  Unless I am willing to run through a field throwing daisies and discussing the depravity of sports for women, it seems I am destined to be outshone by men of more scintillating conversation.

  His eyes fell on Alita, a more pleasant proposition, to be sure. Still, reality was clearly too boring to young ladies. They wished to be treated like fragile, dainty creatures and thereby perpetuate the myth. I hoped you were different.

  The Sherwood fellow is a bad influence. The fact that she liked this monkey was a great source of aggravation. She might easily become as superficial as Sherwood were she to remain long in his society.

  A waste of a promising mind. Her grandfather was, by all accounts, brilliant. If Val was not mistaken, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  He grew increasingly perplexed. There was something not right about Alita tonight. She talked a great deal of nonsense ordinarily, but it was neither insipid nor superficial. There was depth to her nonsense. This was just petty “small talk” about insignificant matters of no consequence. In his experience Alita spoke of things that mattered very much. She just happened to be wildly off the mark.

  “I love a good tune,” Marvella continued.

  “So you favor popular music over the classics, Duchess?” Val asked.

  “Not at all, I favor anything one can dance to,” she stated wistfully, with a faraway expression in her eyes. Suddenly the severity returned to her expression. “Elegant dancing, that is. When I was a girl, they were so charming.”

  “Dances are no longer charming?” Val asked in a growing state of confusion. “I wasn’t aware.”

  Her Grace’s expression indicated her mind was now running rampant with examples of the depraved morality of the current society and its generation, a particular favorite topic of hers. “In my day we weren’t so familiar until after we were married.”

  Val stole a glance at Alita, a slow smile coming to his lips as a pleasant memory overtook him. She must have had the same memory because she blushed, and Val thought that he had never seen her look more becoming.

  Sherwood frowned, but his countenance remained refined.

  Val motioned for the waiter to bring Turkish coffee for himself and English tea for the others. A flash of crimson and gold moved toward the kitchen, the wide, white pantaloons flapping at full speed.

  Sherwood politely addressed Marvella’s remark. “Everything is changing, Your Grace. And who knows what it shall lead to? Only in the last year Parliament granted divorced women the right to claim custody of their children,” he stated with some indifference.

  “Shameful,” stated Marvella.

  “It is shameful that a woman should not have had this right previously.” Val tested the pears in wine sauce which had been placed on the table as a dessert.

  “Anyone who leaves her husband has already abandoned her responsibilities and is not entitled to her children,” pronounced the duchess.

  “Didn’t Grandfather vote in favor of that law?” asked Alita as she took a small portion of a pastry filled with dates and drizzled in honey.

  Marvella said nothing but pursed her lips as she passed up the pastries in favor of a cluster of grapes.

  “Yes, he did,” Val selected one of the passing grapes and popped it into his mouth. “Much to the duke’s credit. He understood that the lives of a cross section of women of greatly varying circumstances cannot be lumped into one moral edict. Some of these women have been cruelly treated by their husbands, along with the children. I have no doubt Lord Yarbury would not wish their suffering to be reduced to a flippant discussion by people who never wanted for anything nor knew a powerless moment in their lives.”

  There was a stillness at the table for a moment.

  Ah, finally a pause in the banality.

  “I agree,” said Alita with conviction. “We don’t know the circumstances. We do know, however, that not all men are ethical. A woman’s right to her children should not be ruled out without hearing the particulars.”

  Val took a sip of his wine, thoughtfully considering Miss Stanton. Though she didn’t always make sense—usually when she was talking about him—she looked outward, always outward. These other two, Sherwood and the duchess, were more inclined to look inward, to their own small worlds.

  Not an ideal quality for those running the country. By ‘looking inward’ he did not refer to introspection and education but to their own needs and desires. Though unobjectionable and of decent character, their primary concern was “How does it affect me?” Val had the suspicion that, even when Sherwood engaged others in conversation, it was with the intent of being engaging.

  “Richard Lawrence is well revered as one of the great crusaders of equal rights for all people, man or woman, rich or poor.” Val tapped his finger on the table before addressing Marvella. “I must say I find it odd, Your Grace, that your husband should support women’s rights and you do not support equal rights for your own sex.”

  “Not so odd,” replied Marvella haughtily, her expression dismissing him. “You may choose to pitch the gammon, but I shall not. Equal rights would have given me less power, not more.”

  “There is nothing equal about your reign, that is true, Your Grace.” Val chuckled with amusement, even while shaking his head. Despite himself, he could not help but feel some admiration for this woman who was so clear on her opinions and who, like her granddaughter, was continually surprising him with her utterances.

  “Besides,” Marvella smiled, her aristocratic features revealing so clearly the beautiful young woman she had been, “I believe women are misled as to what shall make them happy.”

  “Irrespective of the misguided goals of other women, it is your good fortune that you hold a position in society which allows you to so freely express your opinions, Duchess. Most women do not have that privilege,” stated Val.

  “Indeed, Lord Ravensdale. Fortune has everything to do with it.” Marvella smiled demurely. She took a sip of her tea, her eyes clear and blue under beautifully arched eyebrows. He understood instantly the hold the duchess had over men throughout her life.

  The poignancy of the moment caused Val to turn to gaze upon Alita. He was aware in that moment the hold Alita Stanton had gained over him in such a short time.

  Valerius Huntington was not a man to experience fear, but the picture before him filled him with trepidation. If he were not careful, he could end up as a permanent fixture of this small-minded circle.

  “And, Miss Alita, what of your opinion?” William asked. “I comprehend that you are not particularly interested in the vote for women?”

  Sherwood sought to drive yet another wedge between Alita and himself, Val suspected. The thought made his blood boil. If there were any wedges to be driven he would do the honors himself.

  “I have no need of it,” replied Alita nonchalantly. “Everything I want in life is a family of my own. I expect I shall b
e a good judge of character in choosing my husband. Nor shall I have any need to engage in employment.”

  “You are most fortunate, Miss Alita,” remarked Val.

  “I do not know why God has blessed me with so much.” Alita’s lips formed a quivering smile. “I am sure I do not deserve my blessings, but mine is an ideal life for my constitution and my outlook.”

  “Let us all be happy, then, and forget about the rest of the world.” Val raised his glass of wine as if to toast.

  Alita’s tranquility surprised him. “If I am determined to be dissatisfied, I help no one and only hurt myself. It makes no sense to not enjoy the happiness and gifts which God has chosen to give to me.”

  “Some years ago I saw firsthand a woman who thought she had everything when she found that her husband was untrue to her and would remain so.” Val said. “The reality is that she had no options but to live out her life in an unhappy marriage. She had no employment. No possibility of divorce. Without the vote, her concerns were consequently of no interest to the men who make the laws.”

  “And what happened to her?” Alita asked, turning pale. “She must have felt like a trapped animal.”

  “She had no choice but to be miserable or to enter into an imaginary world.” His mood turned a shade darker as the memory washed over him. “A form of madness. These are the only two options available when one is trapped in a terrible situation with no hope of escape.”

  Alita nodded distractedly. “To enter into an imaginary world is to separate from one’s own life.”

  “I am sorry for the woman of your acquaintance, Captain Ravensdale, but I believe these to be the exception rather than the rule.” William Priestly made some small effort to control his agitation. “At any rate, Miss Alita has no need to enter into this dark melodrama which clearly distresses her and benefits no one. Your point eludes me.”

  Val stretched his legs out before him. “The woman of my acquaintance is my mother. My point is that preserving one’s illusions at the expense of supporting equality for all promotes cruelty. My point is that I am disgusted with seeing people die so that I can maintain the lie about my country’s glory and Her inhabitants’ superiority. Let us face the truth and correct it.”

  “You are an officer, and you are opposed to war?” William laughed outright. “Ravensdale, if you don’t wish to defend your country’s interests any longer, why then do you not leave the army rather than provoking innocent young ladies over dinner?”

  Impressive. He wouldn’t have thought Sherwood had it in him.

  Val studied William Priestly intently. His voice was dark and deadly quiet when he replied, “I have killed many, and I could kill again.”

  Lord Sherwood swallowed nervously.

  “And yet…I had best make damn sure I am in the right before I rip someone else’s throat out.” His gaze was steady, and Sherwood remained still under his scrutiny. “But I am perfectly capable of doing it.”

  32

  The Dye is Cast

  There was silence at the table even as the safragis arrived with a silver tea service of black tea, mint, milk, and sugar, along with the Turkish coffee. He must have felt the tension, making quick business of his serving.

  Alita broke the silence, appearing pensive. “For myself, I feel nothing lacking in the role reserved for women in British society. And yet…I would have wished to see my mother in parliament. She is so well suited to it and would have excelled at it.”

  “God forbid.” The duchess swung the back of her hand to her forehead, as if she hoped to knock herself out.

  This remarkable act did nothing to subdue her granddaughter’s reflections, Val observed with amusement.

  It is indeed a refreshingly unconventional family.

  “I cannot conceive it will ever happen,” Sherwood murmured, in a tone which said he was glad of it.

  “Nor I. But it is the greatest desire of her heart.” Alita sighed. “And the talent she was given.”

  “I cannot imagine she would do a worse job than the men who run the country,” Val said.

  “A left-handed compliment to be sure,” Alita said. “At any rate, Lady Elaina must content herself with influencing the men around her. Which she does very well.”

  Wonderful. This power over men runs in the family. A fact which, quite frankly, was reinforced at every turn.

  “But you think it not enough, Miss Alita?” Sherwood asked.

  “For me, certainly. It is a perfectly lovely endeavor to adore one’s family and to have a happy life,” stated Alita without aplomb.

  “Hear, hear,” agreed William.

  “That is the most sensible thing I have heard all evening,” Marvella said. “Possibly the only sensible thing.”

  “Lovely if it can be accomplished,” Val said. “Unlikely that it can be achieved when there is an uneven balance of power. Those in power will always abuse their position.”

  “Not always.” She glanced at Sherwood and smiled. “I agree with you on some points, Lord Ravensdale. However, why should I, in particular, join the suffragette movement? I am happy with my lot in life.”

  “Because you are a woman of privilege,” Val’s gaze was intent as he held her eyes. “The suffragette movement is not generally for the few women like yourself. It is for the vast majority of women who have no protection. To live only for yourself is to ignore those less fortunate.”

  “If I only lived for myself, I certainly would not be here speaking with you, Lord Ravensdale,” Alita retorted, color rising to her cheeks.

  William Priestly appeared amused for the first time since Val had arrived. “Quite so.”

  “I’m sure you’ve turned Captain Ravensdale up sweet now, Alita,” Marvella said with a subtle nod of the chin.

  “You are in a position to make a difference, Miss Alita,” Val persisted, unconcerned with the insult. “That is the material point.”

  “And how, pray tell, might I effect any change? I haven’t any skills, and I don’t have a profession.” Alita was clearly frustrated.

  “That predicament didn’t hinder your mother,” he proposed. “In these times, it is the responsibility of all women of advantage to promote women’s rights.”

  “Ravensdale,” stated William, his voice controlled. “There is no cause to distress Miss Alita. Nor does she deserve your censure.”

  Val kept his eyes on Alita. Reservedly he replied, “I assure you, Sherwood, that I find Miss Alita to be everything which is agreeable in a female.”

  And yourself as well, my fine peacock.

  But Val had already hit his mark, he knew. He could see it in the daggers she was shooting at him.

  Good. He wanted her to discover why she was disassociating herself from the support of her own sex.

  Her emotions flared. “What do you propose I do? The only talents I have are disbelieved by everyone. I diligently contrive to keep them secret. In point of fact, I must continually pretend to be someone I am not simply to fit in and to maintain my position in society.” Alita appeared downcast, the color draining momentarily from her complexion. “I have nothing to contribute which anyone is interested in. Everything I am, no one cares about.”

  Excellent. The answer had surfaced. Val smiled with approval. “Believe me, I know the feeling, Miss Stanton.”

  “Ravensdale, look what you’ve done!” William Priestly rose from his seat abruptly. “You’ve upset Miss Alita with all this fustian nonsense when there is no cause for it. She is the loveliest girl imaginable, and you’ve brought her to tears.”

  “I assure you, Sherwood, I have nothing but Miss Stanton’s ultimate happiness in mind. It does not appear to have given her joy to be someone other than who she is all these years.” He turned to Alita. “Or am I am mistaken?”

  She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “If memory serves, I was much happier before meeting you, Lord Ravensdale.”

  Val could not help but laugh. The girl had spirit, and that was a fact. He glanced at the duchess, who
smiled as well, a peculiar light in her eyes.

  For his part, Sherwood sneered. “This is nothing but self-serving, insincere drama. I am well acquainted with you Lord Byron types who plume yourself on the sound of your own voice, woo-ing young innocents with your passionate, melancholy pronouncements simply for attention. Or for more illicit purposes, which I don’t care to dwell upon in the company of ladies. I’ve a mind to call you out!”

  “Rather outmoded, don’t you think, Sherwood?” Val raised his eyebrows in interest. This was a promising turn of events.

  “There now, dear, don’t raise a fuss. Alita is fine.” Marvella patted William’s hand. “We mustn’t provide an on-dit for the other guests.”

  William’s eyes were burning with anger now, but he followed Marvella’s direction and sat down, trusting she knew her own granddaughter and, more likely, not wishing to cause a scene. Through clenched teeth he pronounced softly into her ear, purposely audible to all in the small party, “Miss Alita, you are perfection itself and deserve much better treatment than this peep-of-the-day fellow displays. Life does not need to be this difficult. If one but relaxes and enjoys oneself, it is the simplest matter imaginable to be happy.”

  Alita smiled at him.

  “I couldn’t agree more, dear,” Marvella added.

  Val studied Sherwood momentarily with unanticipated admiration. Though Sherwood surely knew the Princess Royals captain could snap him in two, the dandy persisted in defending Alita’s honor in a brave, if medieval, fashion.

  “I apologize for upsetting you, Miss Alita. It was not my intent. And I commend Lord Sherwood for his right and noble defense of you. But don’t you see, Miss Stanton? Your discomfiture was not in vain. You have identified your greatest skill.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “An ability to hide who you are.”

  “That talent is nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you, Lord Ravensdale,” replied Alita haughtily. “All women can pretend to be someone they are not. Only men have the privilege of being their arrogant, pontificating selves.”